


Chaos Countdown

by MajorTrouble



Series: Team Bingo Bongo for BIKM Bingo! [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BIKM Bingo fill - #20 Time, Canon-Typical Violence, Curses, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Gen, M/M, that's not a griffin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:41:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28993101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajorTrouble/pseuds/MajorTrouble
Summary: Time:a : the measured or measurable period during which an action, process, or condition exists or continues : durationb : a non-spatial continuum that is measured in terms of events which succeed one another from past through present to future
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert
Series: Team Bingo Bongo for BIKM Bingo! [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2126874
Comments: 6
Kudos: 48





	Chaos Countdown

_He’s running out of time_.

The sun is cresting the horizon, dragging fingertips of red light over cobblestones and painting the dull brick of the clock tower a nearly unnatural orange. 

Lambert races through the streets, bundle held tight to his chest, teeth gritted together so hard his jaw aches from the strain. He keeps ahead of the approaching dawn, but just barely. If he slows, even for a second, this will all be over. 

_He’s running._

The cloak in his arms shifts and shimmers. The iridescent feathers seem to reach out for the sunlight behind him and he grips it tighter. It feels almost alive in his grasp and he puts on a burst of speed, feeling the warmth of sunlight nipping at his heels.

_Time is running out._

Everything had been so simple three days ago. A simple contract. A simple beast to kill. A simple reward to collect. But then Jaskier had gotten involved. He’d asked questions. He hadn’t liked the answers. So he pushed, seeking the truth behind the griffin roaming the fields behind the Baron’s keep. The one that seemed far too intelligent to be a mere beast. 

And the truth did out. 

When Lambert had come back, a young man’s body slung over his shoulder instead of the head of a griffin gripped in his hand, furious at the deception, the Baron told him the bard had left. That seemed highly unlikely, given the two had been travelling together for nearly 10 months and Jaskier had yet to get tired of his stories. The bard was like a burr attached to him. An overly chatty, extraordinarily attractive burr. 

Needless to say, Lambert hadn’t believed the Baron, and told him so at sword-point. It had taken a few false starts, and an examination of the body he’d brought back, to get the full story. The Barony was cursed. Specifically, the Baron’s sons. For two hundred years, the patriarchal line of the Barony was cursed to have one son forced into the body of a griffin, set to roam the lands around the castle.

Apparently, someone had angered a very powerful sorcerer. 

The last Baron had found a way to thwart the curse. With the help of a hedge witch, he’d contained the curse, severing it from the familial line. However, it still needed somewhere to go. Hence the poor farm boy whose body Lambert had brought back. He’d been so angry at being cursed, he’d wreaked havoc on the castle grounds, destroying buildings and terrorizing anyone who dared go beyond the walls. 

Lambert sympathized with the dead boy fervently. 

Now, the curse had been let loose on Jaskier. The stupidly trusting bard had been lured into complacency and was paying the price, transformed into a griffin and forced out into the woods around the castle. The Witcher was, understandably, furious. He’d interrogated the hedge mage, and when that didn’t work, called in a favour. 

Merigold didn’t appreciate the overpowering scent of blood in the mage’s work room, but she had helped anyway. It was an old curse - of course - involving old magic, and therefore needed a very specific remedy to break it.

So now here he was, being chased by the rising dawn, a cloak of living feathers gripped tight to his chest as he tried to get to Jaskier before the light of the third day. Because that’s what Merigold had said. He had three days to get the cloak, lay it over Jaskier, and break the curse. 

His boots beat a staccato rhythm in tune with his heart as he rounds the edge of the last building in the village. He sprints across the open field, his eyes picking out the sprawled form of the griffin, pinned down by rope infused with the blood of the Baron and his offspring. The warmth of the dawn is edging across the grass as he skids to a halt, looking down into half-lidded eyes still that vibrant blue he’s gotten so used to these past few months.

Unfurling the cloak, he struggles to keep it still. It is nearly alive, the feathers moving by themselves against his hands. He forces it down over Jaskier’s form, smoothing it out over the nearly-still body, watching as it settles and clings to the tawny fur. 

Just as he releases the edges, light breaks over the buildings behind him, bathing the cloak-covered griffin. It reflects off the feathers, the glow so bright that Lambert has to turn away, raising a hand to his eyes to block it. There’s a deep thrumming that fills the air and pulses through the ground beneath him. He thinks he can hear the distant sound of screaming, as if from very far away. When he looks back, Jaskier is huddled on the ground, wrapped in a cloak that now seems to be made of ravens’ feathers. The ropes have broken, snapped and frayed at the ends, and lay around his still form.

Lambert drops to his knees beside the bard, gathering him into his arms, uncaring of how the feathers poke and prod at his skin. He touches Jaskier’s cheek and is met with brilliant blue eyes and a tired grin. A hand comes up to tangle itself in Lambert’s short hair, dragging his face down so his lips meet Jaskier’s in a kiss so natural that he leans into it without thinking. The thrum of power flows through them both like a shockwave. 

When they finally break apart, the look of adoration and trust on Jaskier’s face makes something solidify in Lambert’s chest. Here is someone worth all his time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank-you for reading!! Your comments mean the world to me <3


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